“Then it is of the greatest moment that you state your business in its entirety.” She drew her eyebrows together, a warning sign that she was growing impatient.
Lynn took the hint. “In short, then here is the case. I put it to you that since yours is the largest ranch in this part of Texas, the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe is willing to lay a branch line that would terminate at a depot on your northern range. In return, we require that you sell us sufficient land for the right-of-way and for the cattle pens and other service buildings pertaining thereto. Of course, these structures will be located only in and around the rail terminal.”
Pouring Lynn another brandy gave Kate time to think. She understood the advantages of the branch line but wanted the railroad man to spell them out. “What do I have to gain, Mr. Lynn?” She fluttered her eyelashes, playing the innocent.
But Barnabas Lynn was not fooled, and he smiled, enjoying the young woman’s ruse. The railroad man raised his hand in what was almost a benediction. “Here are the facts, ma’am, succinctly told and with the utmost sincerity. One—you will never need to make a trail drive to Kansas ever again. Your cattle will be loaded into boxcars and carried directly to the Chicago stockyards. Two—other ranchers will drive their herds to the KK for shipment and you can charge a toll for access. Three, and here is more good news—the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe will discount the fee it charges for your cattle shipments by twenty percent.” Lynn beamed. “There is bounty for you.”
Kate nodded. “Since your rails will cross my range and the depot will be on my property, the discount will be thirty-three-and-a-third percent . . . one third of the usual charge.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Mrs. Kerrigan.” He looked like someone had just hung a black wreath on his door.
“Yes, I do, don’t I?”
“And you don’t seem at all impressed by the fact that the railroads will forever end the trail drives to Dodge City and other places,” Lynn said.
“I’ve long anticipated such a development, Mr. Lynn. The times are changing and I will change with them,” Kate said. “Running beef off my cattle during their two months on the trail never seemed to me like a winning proposition. Besides, on a personal note, I have no love for Dodge City, nor, I fear, for any other Kansas cow town.”
Lynn leaned back in his chair, his brandy glass parked just under his nose. He seemed deep in thought.
“Well? Is it a deal, Mr. Lynn?”
“The railroad will make you a rich woman, Mrs. Kerrigan. You will find that shipping by rail is fairly expensive, but that cost is offset by the fact that it is a considerably more efficient way to move cattle. Your herds will arrive at market heavier and healthier and that means more money per head in the pocket of the rancher. I will provide you with the facts and figures with the contract at a later date.” Making a weak attempt at a joke, “You’ll soon be able to buy all the furniture you want, Mrs. Kerrigan.”
“Do we have an agreement, Mr. Lynn?”
“Yes. The AT&SF will waive one-third of our normal shipping fee in return for rail access as far as the piney woods.”
Kate and Lynn talked for a while about cattle pens, train availability, and how much damage there would be to her northern range. Later, satisfied with his answers, she led him into the hallway. Moses rousted the coachman from the warm kitchen, where he’d been sampling Jazmin’s bacon and biscuits.
Lynn’s parting words before he climbed into his coach were, “Weather permitting, we will start to lay track right away, Mrs. Kerrigan. I confidently expect that you and the other ranchers will be able to ship cattle after the coming spring roundup.”
After Lynn drove away, Frank Cobb stepped beside Kate. “What was that about? He was here for an hour at least.”
Kate drew her shawl closer around her shoulders and shivered. “Come inside and I’ll tell you all about it.”
* * *
Kate had poured a brandy for Frank, but he held the drink in his hand without tasting it. Only when she stopped talking did he down the brandy in one gulp.
“If what you’re telling me comes true, this is the end of an age, Kate. Soon the cattle drives will pass into history along with Jesse Chisholm and Charlie Goodnight and the rest of them. It was a way of life, a good way, and I’ll be sorry to see it go.”
“It will come to pass, Frank. It’s the beginning of a new era of growth and expansion, and the KK will grow right along with it.”
“You’re building an empire, Kate. I’m not much of a one for empire building. Sometimes a man grows so big and so rich so fast he loses sight of the things in life that really matter.”
Kate shook her head. “I’m not building an empire, Frank. I’m laying the foundation of a dynasty and I want you to be a part of it. In due time, my sons will take over the running of the KK, and I’ll need you at their side. You’re my rock, Frank, and I want you to be a rock for Trace and Quinn.” She smiled. “And for little Peter Letting, Esquire.”
“I’ll be here as long as you need me, Kate.” That was all Frank needed to say.
“Thank you,” Kate said.
And to a man like Frank Cobb, that was all she needed to say.
TURN THE PAGE FOR AN EXCITING PREVIEW
THE GREATEST WESTERN WRITERS OF THE 21ST CENTURY
Smoke Jensen was a towering Western hero. Now his two freewheeling, long-lost nephews, Ace and Chance Jensen, are blazing a legendary trail of their own ...
Riverboat gambling is a blast until hotheaded Chance finds out just what he won in his final hand against a Missouri River gambler named Haggarty. Chance’s “prize” is a beautiful Chinese slave girl named Ling. The twins want to set Ling free and keep their cash, but at Fort Benton, she gives them the slip, robbing them blind. When they hunt her down in Rimfire, Montana, she’s with Haggarty, lining up their next mark.
WHAT WOULD SMOKE JENSEN DO?
Ace and Chance want payback. So does hardcase Leo Belmont, who’s come all the way from San Francisco with a grudge and a couple kill-crazy hired guns. Belmont wants revenge, and Ace and Chance are in the way.
PROBABLY THIS.
Soon the boys are fighting alongside Ling and Haggarty. Because it doesn’t matter who’s right and who’s wrong—blazing guns and flying lead are laying down the law ...
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Authors WILLIAM W. JOHNSTONE with J. A. Johnstone
THOSE JENSEN BOYS! RIMFIRE
On sale now, wherever Pinnacle Books are sold.
CHAPTER ONE
“Let’s take a ride on a riverboat, you said,” Ace Jensen muttered to his brother as they backed away from the group of angry men stalking toward them across the deck. “It’ll be fun, you said.”
“Well, I didn’t count on this,” Chance Jensen replied. “How was I to know we’d wind up in such a mess of trouble?”
Ace glanced over at Chance as if amazed that his brother could ask such a stupid question. “When do we ever not wind up in trouble?”
“Yeah, you’ve got a point there,” Chance agreed. “It seems to have a way of finding us.”
Their backs hit the railing along the edge of the deck. Behind them, the giant wooden blades of the side-wheeler’s paddles churned the muddy waters of the Missouri River.
They were on the right side of the riverboat—the starboard side, Ace thought, then chided himself for allowing such an irrelevant detail to intrude on his brain at such a moment—and so far out in the middle of the stream that jumping overboard and swimming for shore wasn’t practical.
Besides, the brothers weren’t in the habit of fleeing from trouble. If they started doing that, most likely they would never stop running.
The man who was slightly in the forefront of the group confronting them pointed a finger at Chance. “All right, kid, I’ll have that watch back now.”
“I’m not a kid,” Chance snapped. “I’m a grown man. And so are you, so you shouldn’t have bet the watch if you didn’t want to take a chance on losing it.
”
The Jensen brothers were grown men, all right, but not by much. They were in their early twenties, and although they had knocked around the frontier all their lives, had faced all sorts of danger, and burned plenty of powder, there was still a certain . . . innocence . . . about them, for want of a better word. They still made their way through life with enthusiasm and an eagerness to embrace all the joy the world had to offer.
They were twins, although that wasn’t instantly apparent. They were fraternal rather than identical. Ace was taller, broader through the shoulders, and had black hair instead of his brother’s sandy brown. He preferred range clothes, wearing jeans, a buckskin shirt, and a battered old Stetson, while Chance was much more dapper in a brown tweed suit, vest, white shirt, a fancy cravat with an ivory stickpin, and a straw planter’s hat.
Ace was armed with a Colt .45 Peacemaker with well-worn walnut grips that rode easily in a holster on his right hip. Chance didn’t carry a visible gun, but he had a Smith & Wesson .38 caliber double-action Second Model revolver in a shoulder holster under his left arm.
However, neither young man wanted to start a gunfight on the deck of the Missouri Belle. It was a tranquil summer night, and gunshots and spilled blood would just about ruin it.
The leader of the group confronting them was an expensively dressed, middle-aged man with a beefy, well-fed look about him. Still pointing that accusing finger at Chance, he went on. “Leland Stanford himself gave me that watch in appreciation for my help in getting the transcontinental railroad built. You know who Leland Stanford is, don’t you? President of the Central Pacific Railroad?”
“We’ve heard of him,” Ace said. “Rich fella out California way. Used to be governor out there, didn’t he?”
“That’s right. And he’s a good friend of mine. I’m a stockholder in the Central Pacific, in fact.”
“Then likely you can afford to buy yourself another watch,” Chance said.
The man’s already red face flushed even more as it twisted in a snarl. “You mouthy little pup. Hand it over, or we’ll throw the two of you right off this boat.”
“I won it fair and square, mister. Doc Monday always says the cards know more about our fate than we do.”
“I don’t know who in blazes Doc Monday is, but your fate is to take a beating and then a swim. Grab ’em, boys, but don’t throw ’em overboard until I get my watch back!”
The other four men rushed Ace and Chance. With their backs to the railing, they had nowhere to go.
Doc Monday, the gambler who had raised the Jensen brothers after their mother died in childbirth, had taught them many things, including the fact that it was usually a mistake to wait for trouble to come to you. Better to go out and meet it head-on. In other words, the best defense was the proverbial good offense, so Ace and Chance met the charge with one of their own, going low to tackle the nearest two men around the knees.
The hired ruffians weren’t expecting it, and the impact swept their legs out from under them. They fell under the feet of their onrushing companions, who stumbled and lost their balance, toppling onto the first two men, and suddenly there was a knot of flailing, punching, and kicking combatants on the deck.
The florid-faced hombre who had foolishly wagered his watch during a poker game in the riverboat’s salon earlier hopped around agitatedly and shouted encouragement to his men.
Facing two-to-one odds, the brothers shouldn’t have been able to put up much of a fight, but when it came to brawling, Ace and Chance could more than hold their own. Their fists lashed out and crashed against the jaws and into the bellies of their enemies. Ace got behind one of the men, looped an arm around his neck, and hauled him around just in time to receive a kick in the face that had been aimed at Ace’s head, knocking the man senseless.
Ace let go of him and rolled out of the way of a dive from another attacker. He clubbed his hands and brought them down on the back of the man’s neck. The man’s face bounced off the deck, flattening his nose and stunning him.
Chance had his hands full, too. His left hand was clamped around the neck of an enemy while his right clenched into a fist and pounded the man’s face. But he was taking punishment himself. His opponent was choking him at the same time, and the other man in the fight hammered punches into Chance’s ribs from the side.
Knowing that he had only seconds before he would be overwhelmed, Chance twisted his body, drew his legs up, and rammed both boot heels into the chest of the man hitting him. It wasn’t quite the same as being kicked by a mule, but not far from it. The man flew backwards and rolled when he landed on the deck. He almost went under the railing and off the side into the river, but he stopped just short of the brink.
With the odds even now, Chance was able to batter his other foe into submission. The man’s hand slipped off Chance’s throat as he moaned and slumped back onto the smooth planks.
That still left the rich man who didn’t like losing.
As Ace and Chance looked up from their vanquished enemies, they saw him pointing a pistol at them.
“If you think I’m going to allow a couple gutter rats like you two to make a fool of me, you’re sadly mistaken,” the man said as a snarl twisted his beefy face.
“You’re not gonna shoot us, mister,” Ace said. “That would be murder.”
“No, it wouldn’t.” An ugly smile appeared on the man’s lips. “Not if I tell the captain the two of you jumped me and tried to rob me. I had to kill you to protect myself. That’s exactly what’s about to happen here.”
“Over a blasted watch?” Chance exclaimed in surprise.
“I don’t like losing . . . especially to my inferiors.”
“You’d never get away with it,” Ace said.
“Won’t I? Why do you think none of the crew has come to see what all the commotion’s about? I told the chief steward I’d be dealing with some cheap troublemakers—in my own way—and he promised he’d make sure I wasn’t interrupted. You see”—the red-faced man chuckled—“I’m not involved with just the railroad. I own part of this riverboat line as well.”
Ace and Chance exchanged a glance. If the man shot them, his hired ruffians could toss their bodies into the midnight-dark Missouri River and no one would know they were gone until morning. It was entirely possible that a man of such wealth and influence wouldn’t even be questioned about the disappearance of a couple drifting nobodies.
But things weren’t going to get that far.
Ace said in a hard voice that belied his youth, “That only works if you’re able to shoot both of us, mister. Problem is, while you’re killing one of us, the other one is going to kill you.”
The man’s eyes widened. He blustered, “How dare you threaten me like that?”
“Didn’t you just threaten to kill us?” asked Chance. “My brother’s right. You’re not fast enough—and your nerves aren’t steady enough—for you to get both of us. You’ll be dead a heartbeat after you pull the trigger.”
The man’s lips drew back from his teeth in a grimace. “Maybe I’m willing to take that risk.”
Well, that was a problem, all right, thought Ace. Stubborn pride had been the death of many a man, and it looked like that was about to contribute to at least one more.
Then a new voice said, “Krauss, I guarantee that even if you’re lucky enough to kill these two young men, you won’t be able to stop me from putting a bullet in your head.”
The rich man’s gaze flicked to a newcomer who’d stepped out of the shadows cloaking the deck in places. Wearing a light-colored suit and hat, he was easy to see. Starlight glinted on the barrel of the revolver he held in a rock-steady fist.
“Drake!” exclaimed Krauss. “Stay out of this. It’s none of your business.”
“I think it is.” Drake’s voice was a lazy drawl, but there was no mistaking the steel underneath the casual tone. “Ace and Chance are friends of mine.”
Krauss sneered. “You wouldn’t dare shoot me.”
“Think abo
ut some of the things you know about me,” said Steve Drake, “then make that statement again.”
Krauss licked his lips. He looked around at his men, who were starting to recover from the battle with the Jensen brothers. “Don’t just lie there!” he snapped at them. “Get up and deal with this!”
One of the men sat up, shook his head, and winced from the pain the movement caused him. “Mr. Krauss, we don’t want to tangle with Drake. Rumor says he’s killed seven men.”
“Rumor sometimes underestimates,” said Steve Drake with an easy smile.
“You’re worthless!” Krauss raged. “You’re all fired!”
“I’d rather be fired than dead,” one of the other men mumbled.
Steve Drake gestured with the gun in his hand and told Ace and Chance, “Stand up, boys.”
The brothers got to their feet. Chance reached inside his coat to a pocket and brought out a gold turnip watch with an attached chain and fob. “I don’t want to have to be looking over my shoulder for you the rest of my life, mister. This watch isn’t worth that.”
“You mean you’ll give it back to me?” asked Krauss.
Ace could tell from the man’s tone that he was eager to resolve the situation without any more violence, now that it appeared he might well be one of the victims.
“I mean I’ll sell it back to you,” said Chance.
Krauss started to puff up again like an angry frog. “I’m not going to buy back my own watch!”
“I won it from you fair and square,” Chance reminded him. “Unless you think I cheated you . . .” His voice trailed off in an implied threat.
Krauss shook his head. “I never said that. I suppose you won fair and square.” That admission was clearly difficult for him to make. “What do you want for the watch?”
“Well, since it came from a famous man, I reckon it must have quite a bit of sentimental value to you. I was thinking . . . five hundred dollars.”
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